


Broken

by lillibattenberg



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (she totally comes back you guys don't worry), Angst, Chant of Light (Dragon Age), Cullen Rutherford Is A Good Andrastian, Dorian Pavus is a Good Friend, Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - Here Lies the Abyss, F/M, Hopeful Ending, Mentions of Cullevelyan, no beta we die like darkspawn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:42:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27777067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lillibattenberg/pseuds/lillibattenberg
Summary: When Inquisitor Trevelyan falls into the Fade, a distraught Cullen turns to the one person he thinks could help his emotional state.Guess he forgot about Dorian.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Dorian Pavus & Cullen Rutherford, Dorian Pavus & Female Trevelyan, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Kudos: 10





	Broken

Cullen wouldn't exactly call himself a _broken_ man. A bit dented, maybe. Slightly dinged, sure. Even cracked in places ( _cough_ KinlochHold _cough_ ). But calling a man _broken_ implies a certain crushedness of spirit he just doesn't have.

Until today.

"And you're certain?"

"Completely, ser. Her, the Champion, that Warden with the mo, the apostate elf, the Seeker and that short one who tells stories - all gone through a rift before my eyes, plain as day."

"Solas will be happy," he says in a flat monotone.

A familiar voice with a strong Denerim accent floats up behind him. "Yeah, wonder if there's enough privacy for Elfy to jack off?" Cullen rounds on his heel, intending to yell at Sera to _fuck off already_ , but Maker help him then he sees Sera's eyes and the poor thing's so _scared_. She just wants her friends back.

Just like him.

The numbness and the stoicism finally cracks and Cullen staggers off so he can die inside in private. He's the _Commander_ , damn it - he is Not Allowed to cry in front of his soldiers, much less collapse. So instead he falters towards his tent, followed by an unseen Dorian. He passes Sera, now shaking and crying as Blackwall strokes her hair, her tiny body cradled in his arms as if she's a child. He catches the tail end of a confrontation between Vivienne and Cole, as she lunges at him and he poofs away and makes her forget like he always has to. Bull is drinking with the Chargers and talking about dragons. His tent is blissfully empty, full of the promise of sleep.

He walks straight past it. He knows he couldn't sleep right now. The withdrawal symptoms are okay today - that's not the problem.

It's _her_.

He knows, logically, he shouldn't be worried. Morgan is the Herald of Andraste, who was pushed out of the Fade by her blessed predecessor. If the Maker ever listened to His Bride, Cullen's would come back to him.

And yet...

Cullen lets the tent flap drop open and steps inside the makeshift chapel. There's already a little niche in the sand where several knees - his, Cassandra's, Morgan's, even some unexpected guests like Dorian and Varric - have already rested on the ground in their owners' desperate search for answers. Because if the Maker ever listened to His Bride, hers would have been the last sacrifice.

But He didn't. He doesn't. Because if He did, all those Wardens wouldn't have died.

Cullen kneels in the same place as before, his eyes fixed on the little statue of Andraste perched precariously on a rock. "Though all before me is shadow," he begins, his voice shaking, "yet _shall_ the Maker be my guide." Cullen's voice is forceful and insistent, like he's trying to convince himself. "I shall _not_ be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond." _I shan't I shan't I shan't I shan't I shan't._

_But what about Morgan?_ he thinks, and the words die guiltily on his lips. His straining heart finally splinters and he weeps openly, begging the Maker to give her the peace he could never have and doesn't deserve. "Please," he whimpers, tears streaming down his cheeks, "bring her back to me. I know, I count among those who bring harm without provocation to the least of Your children. I deserve to be hated and accursed, and... perhaps I am. But, please, if You see any of us, save her. She doesn't deserve to be punished for my sins."

Even that feels inadequate, pathetic. He's just about decided he isn't worth it when he hears Dorian ask, "May I come in?"

"Of course," Cullen says, his knee making an uncomfortable clicking noise as he stands up and it ratchets into place. "Would you like me to..."

"Please, stay."

Cullen nods and moves towards his friend. "Had the same idea?"

Dorian sighs. "I'm not Cassandra," he says. " _Kaffas_ , if I was we wouldn't be in this mess. But even a dirty heretic Vint needs something to hold on to. And I wondered if we could feed off each other?"

Despite himself, Cullen chuckles wearily. "I'm afraid you'll find me a terrible meal. My faith has... honestly taken a worse beating than the rest of me."

"Man after my own heart," whispers Dorian. "It's just so... Maker help me, what if she doesn't come back?" His lips quirk upwards in a pale imitation of a smile. "And am I a bad person for being more worried about Morgan than the Herald or Inquisitor?"

"If that's true, then you and me both," Cullen says. "Losing 'the Inquisitor' would be bad, but we have other options. Losing 'the Herald' is worse, with all the rifts, but our templars could handle it. But losing _Morgan_... I love her. We both love her, one way or the other. Morgan the person, beyond her leadership skills or the mark on her hand, is irreplaceable. I... I despair that she is lost forever."

Dorian laughs, properly this time. "Was that deliberate?"

"Was what deliberate?"

"You despair that she is lost forever. Like in Transfigurations." Plumbing the depths of his memory, Dorian calls up the Chant. "The Light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world," he intones, "and into the next. For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water. As the moth sees light and goes toward flame, she should see fire and go towards Light."

Cullen laughs triumphantly. "Is that a prayer or a set of instructions?"

"Rather prophetic, isn't it?"

"The Veil holds no uncertainty for her, and she will know no fear of death, for the Maker shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword." Cullen's smiling now. "She _will_ come back. Thank you, Dorian."

"Thank _you_ ," Dorian replies. "Your faith never fails to bolster my own." He goes to leave. "I _would_ recommend you get some sleep, but I have the strangest feeling you wouldn't listen to me."

Cullen laughs and tuts at himself. "You know me too well, Dorian. Go get some sleep for the both of us. I will keep watch."

Dorian snorts. "You mean you'll put off doing the one thing that might help your mental state for as long as possible." And yet, he smiles as he exits the tent. "Goodnight, Cullen. Maker be with you."

"And you, Dorian. Maker be with us all." Cullen turns back towards the improvised shrine and kneels again, his heart stilled and the words flowing easily from his lips. _She will come back_ has become an inescapable truth, like _the sky is blue_ or _the sun is hot_.

Or, for that matter, like the words of the Chant. Cullen starts again, less insistent and more assured. "Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide..."


End file.
